


For a Dreamer, Night's the Only Time of Day

by WritingToKeepMySanity



Series: Soulmates ‘verse [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Prequel, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:26:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingToKeepMySanity/pseuds/WritingToKeepMySanity
Summary: One night, almost three years before they actually met, Jack and Katherine shared a conversation.Prequel to "Write What You Know".





	For a Dreamer, Night's the Only Time of Day

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place roughly two years before "Write What You Know", so Jack, Kath, and Davey are fifteen, Crutchie's thirteen, and Les is nine.
> 
> (Both stories stand pretty well on their own, so you don’t have to read in any particular order)

The day Crutchie and Jack moved in with the Jacobs was one Jack knew he wouldn’t forget.

“Charlie, you and Les will be in this room,” Mrs. Jacobs opened the door to one of the bedrooms at the top of the stairs. “It’s a little small, we’re sorry to have to double you boys up.”

Crutchie limped into the room, taking in the small room and the two twin beds. Settling on the bed Les hadn’t already leaped onto, he looked up at Mrs. Jacobs with an ear-to-ear grin. “I get my _own_ bed? Gee, thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs!”

Handing him his knapsack, Jack grinned back at Crutchie, missing the looks Mayer and Esther exchanged behind him.

“Jack,” Mr. Jacobs led them a short ways down the hallway. “You and David are in here.” The door opened to reveal a similar room to Les and Crutchie’s.

He gave the room an appreciative look. “Not too shabby. Better than Weasel’s place, huh, Crutchie?”

“Yeah, for sure!” Crutchie laughed delightedly from the doorway.

This time, Jack did see the look the passed between Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs, but he didn’t know what to think of it.

“Well,” Mayer said, backing into the hallway with Les. “Dinner is almost ready. David, Les, will you set the table?”

“Sure, Dad,” Dave answered, leading Les back to the general direction of the kitchen. Crutchie followed them, and Jack stood to do the same.

“Jack?” Mrs. Jacobs stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, Mrs. J?”

“What did Charlie mean, about having his own bed?”

“Oh, well,” Jack shrugged “In the orphanage, and some of the foster homes, kids gotta double or triple up in a bed. Crutchie and I shared a bed… I dunno, last six months or so. We had a buddy, called him Racetrack, he once went to a foster home, had something like six kids in one bed. Drove him nuts, kid’s a smoker, and with that many kids in a room, it was a _huge_ fire hazard, and—Oh.”

The rest if his rambling was cut off as Esther pulled him into an unexpected hug. Belatedly, Jack brought his arms up to hug her back.

“You don’t have to worry about that here.” Her voice was shaky, like she was holding back tears. Like she felt sorry for him and Crutchie. “Our home is small, and, yes, you’ll have to share a room, but we will always have room for all of you kids. Okay?” Esther pulled back to look him in the eye.

Jack had an uncomfortable lump in his throat. Clearing it quickly, he said, “Yeah, okay.”

She smiled, touched his face briefly, before turning to go to the kitchen.

Where the hell had he ended up?

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

It had almost been a year since her mom and Lucy were killed. It hurt. Every day, it hurt.

Katherine curled up in Clara’s beanbag chair, allowing her friend to paint her toenails a bright purple. Clara had been great the past week, supportive, but not overbearing, ready with distractions as easily as she was ready to talk, whatever Katherine needed.

“I found Lucy’s camera today.”

Clara didn’t look up, focused on Katherine’s toes, but she slowed the even strokes of the brush in her hand. “Yeah?”

Katherine nodded. “The last thing she took pictures of was that day we all went to the beach. Remember? Last summer, when we went to Darcy’s family’s beach house?”

“Oh, yeah,” Clara laughed, twisting the cap back on the nail polish bottle. “Didn’t a seagull attack Darcy?”

Smiling weakly, Katherine confirmed, “Yeah. Lucy actually got a picture of that. That was the first vacation Jeff went on with us.” And the only. The wreck was just over a month later.

“You know,” Clara said, filing her nails. “I always thought Jeff was… I don’t know. Weird. He over-enunciated his words. Like, all the time. Didn’t make sense.”

“Jeff was a jerk,” Katherine muttered without thinking.

Clara dropped the file. “What do you mean?”

Quickly shaking her head, Katherine tried to brush her off. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Kath, seriously, what do you know that I don’t?” Clara scooted closer.

“He told her photography wasn’t a credible career, and that there was no way she’d ever making a living at it, okay?” Katherine didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but she’d been sitting on that conversation for over a year.

It had hurt to hear her sister’s soulmate talking so critically of Lucy’s passion, but it had hurt even worse when Lucy agreed, and quit taking pictures, just because _he_ told her to.

Clara’s mouth dropped in shock. “He _didn’t_.”

“Yeah, he did,” Katherine said bitterly, her eyes prickling with tears. “And so a month later, she and Mom went to their house for some society club tea, so Lucy could get an ‘in’ with the ‘right crowd’, and an idiot driver ran a red light, and… Well. You were at the funeral.”

“Kath…” Clara shook her head. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah.” Katherine couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over. “I miss them. So much, Clara.”

Wrapping her arms around Katherine’s shoulder, Clara pulled her close. “I know you do, Kath. I know.”

Her friend’s understanding tone made her cry harder, great heaving sobs that wracked her body. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, crying. Clara didn’t say anything, just held her as she cried herself out.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“Charlie, why does Jack call you Crutchie?”

Dave made a half-strangled sound. “ _Les_.”

“Nah, s’okay, Davey,” Crutchie said, stretching out his bum leg so that it rested in Jack’s lap. Instinctively, Jack gripped Crutchie’s ankle with one hand, stretching the younger boy’s foot with the other. “I gotta club foot, Les,” he explained. “In the orphanage, a couple of the older boys liked to pick on me ‘cause I needed the crutch. Jack and some of the other guys started callin’ me ‘Crutchie’ to prove it wasn’t somethin’ to be ashamed of. Just ‘nother part of being Charlie.”

“‘Sides,” Jack added, dropping Crutchie’s foot back to his lap. “All the kids on our floor had nicknames. Seemed only right to give Crutchie here one.”

Les nodded seriously, considering this. “Can I call you Crutchie?”

Crutchie laughed. “Sure, if you wanna.”

Esther knocked on the door then, poking her head in the room. “Les. It’s late, honey, time for bed. You three,” she indicated Dave, Jack, and Crutchie. “Might want to think about going to bed, too. Busy day tomorrow.”

Leaning over the side of the bed, Crutchie picked up his crutch. “Yeah, alright. Night Davey, night Jack.”

“Goodnight, kid,” Jack held the younger boy’s elbow as he stood from the bed. As Esther led the two younger boys out of the room, and Jack crawled under the covers, he asked Dave, “What’s tomorrow?”

Dave rolled to turn off the light. “Oh, Mom likes to start school shopping early. We gotta buy it a little at a time, so we usually start end of July.”

School shopping. The last time he actually did that… It was definitely before his parents died. That was, what, seven years ago? Seven years was his dad, nine years, his mom. So caught up in his thoughts, Jack almost missed Dave’s question.

“What’d they call you?”

Jack turned his head towards the sound of Dave’s voice. “Hm?”

“In the orphanage,” Dave clarified. “You said everyone on your floor had a nickname. Did you?”

“Cowboy, usually. Captain, sometimes. Conlon liked ‘pain in the ass’.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Probably something to do with the fact I liked givin’ him a hard time.”

“No,” Dave interrupted. “I meant Cowboy. Why’d they call you Cowboy?”

This was getting a little too personal too quickly for Jack’s liking. “I like Westerns," he replied stiffly. "Always talked about movin’ to Santa Fe. Take your pick.”

“What’s Santa Fe got that New York doesn’t?” Dave scrunched up his nose as he thought. “Tarantulas?”

 _That’s it._ Yanking the blanket off him, Jack stood and went to the window. “You just don’t get it, Davey,” he groused, opening the window and swinging a leg out to pull himself onto the fire escape.

“Jack—” Whatever Dave was about to say was lost to Jack, who just moved further up the fire escape.

He wasn’t mad at Davey, the kid was just trying to help. But he could be the first to admit that he’s no good with emotions other than anger. And with the turmoil he was feeling now, with the new family, and Mrs. Jacobs’ words echoing in his mind, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he and Crutchie finally had a home, he just… didn’t know how to process it all.

Bracing his back against the wall, Jack tipped his head back and stared at the moon. It was full, and looked old, gray. _Not like the moon in Santa Fe_ , he thought. There was a voice in the back of his head, one that sounded like Crutchie, telling him it was the same moon everywhere.

“No it ain’t,” he growled. The moon in Santa Fe was so big and yellow, it looked like the sun. It wasn’t dirty, washed-out, like this moon. He wanted Santa Fe’s moon. He wanted fresh air, wide spaces, like it was described in the books he—creatively acquired—a couple years back.

He was going to Santa Fe. Tonight.

Jack crawled back through the window, going straight to his bed— _that_ was still a weird idea to get used to—and curling in on himself, facing the wall. He didn’t say anything and Dave didn’t either.

When he heard Dave’s breathing even out, Jack slowly stood and picked up the knapsack he’d left mostly packed at the foot of the bed. Scooping up his two favorite Westerns and a shirt that didn’t smell too bad, he shoved everything in the bag before reaching under his mattress and pulling out the small amount of cash he had stashed there.

He didn’t think much about it as he carefully wrote out _Santa Fe_ on his arm, and slipped out the window.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Katherine sat at her rickety desk, scribbling in a notebook, when her father walked in.

After her emotional breakdown, she’d eaten dinner with Clara and her parents, then Clara had hugged her tight enough to bring tears to her eyes again, and her mom had driven Katherine home.

“Katherine, it’s late. Time for bed,” he said briskly. Her father was acting as though nothing was different, like it wasn’t nearly the anniversary of the death of his wife and oldest daughter. While Katherine felt like she was slowly falling apart, Joe Plumber was all business as usual.

“Okay, Dad,” she closed her notebook, turning to look up at him.

Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. “Goodnight, Katherine.” Joe had never been the affectionate type—that had been her mom. Stiffly, he turned and walked out the door.

“Night, Dad.” Spinning in her chair, she picked up Lucy’s old camera. Holding it to her eye, Katherine played with the zoom, zooming in and out on the small figurine on her desk.

Lucy used to take great pictures. Her favorite hung over her bed—a candid shot of their mother, laughing into the camera, her eyes bright, the wind blowing back her hair. Slowly lowering the camera, Katherine felt her eyes well up.

“No,” she whispered to herself. She’d cried enough today. Crying wouldn’t bring back Mom or Lucy.

Leaving the camera on her desk, Katherine turned off the light, and got in bed slowly, drawing the covers tight around her. Closing her eyes, she prayed she’d fall asleep quickly.

After an hour of tossing and turning, Katherine concluded her prayer would not be answered anytime soon.

She roughly threw off the blanket, and, as she sat up, she caught sight of something on her arm in the dim light of the moon. Turning on her lamp, Katherine squinted at her arm.

_Santa Fe_

“As in New Mexico?” she asked herself. It didn’t seem out of place at first, then she realized. That wasn’t her handwriting. She didn’t write on her arm.

This was her soulmate.

Fifteen was old to be discovering your soulmate connection, but not unheard of. Most started around twelve or thirteen, and some late bloomers didn’t discover it until sixteen. But it was something Katherine hadn’t bothered to worry about, even as she got older. Especially not in the last year.

But… he’d written first. Should she answer?

Katherine had never had much interest in her soulmate. Her father was already overbearing enough, she didn’t need a soulmate, too, telling her how she should live her life. But tonight, she was lonely. She missed her mom and her sister. She was hurting.

And, honestly? She could use a soulmate right now. Or, at the very least, a distraction.

Picking up her pen, Katherine wrote under her soulmate’s words _What’s in Santa Fe?_

The words faded, and she curled her knees to her chest, and waited.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Jack sat on a bench in Grand Central Station, plotting.

There was no way he could afford a ticket all the way to New Mexico. He did okay selling subscriptions, and Medda helped when she could, but he didn’t even have enough to get out of New York. Could he get close enough to hop a train? There was a security guard a dozen yards away, but Jack had gotten past bigger—and better armed—than him.

He was halfway through his plan, which now included fake tears and a limp (sorry, Crutchie), when he looked down to see not only had his _Santa Fe_ disappeared, but in it’s place was

_What’s in Santa Fe?_

The handwriting was looping cursive, and looked nothing like his. This was his soulmate.

Jack hadn’t given his soulmate much thought since his parents died. He’d been too busy trying to survive various foster families, looking out for himself and, later, Crutchie. Too busy making sure he didn’t let anyone get too close so he didn’t get hurt again.

Maybe that was why he lied.

_I am. I live in Santa Fe._

*~*~*~*~*

 

She was about to give up and go back to bed—it was an accident, he wasn’t going to write back—when she looked down to see his response slowly fade into view.

_I am. I live in Santa Fe._

That was… okay. She was okay with that. There was no pressure to meet right now, they were practically on different coasts.

Katherine considered her next words. There really weren’t “rules” to this, other than it was impolite to write on your face. She could tell him her name, ask him his, but…

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to know personal details about him, didn’t want to tell him any about her.

 _Is it nice?_ She finally asked. His reply came much quicker this time.

_It’s the best._

“Talkative, much?” Katherine muttered. Then, because maybe she was just _that_ crazy, and she wanted to see how he’d respond, she asked,

_If I’m in New York, and you’re in Santa Fe, how will we meet?_

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Jack stared at his wrist. She was in New York? Did she want to meet? Was she asking?

Taking a steadying breath, Jack tried to keep it casual, nonchalant, not letting his panic show.

_Already dying to meet me?_

There. That sounded like Confident Jack, not Scared-As-Hell, Panicked Jack. The Jack that most girls couldn’t seem to resist—

_In your dreams, Cowboy._

He choked a laugh back. That was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but unexpected.

Then, under that, she wrote

 _Just trying to figure out how all this works_.

Jack paused before writing back. He didn’t want to encourage a meeting, but, strangely, he didn’t want to discourage it, either.

_Well, if we are soulmates, like God, the Universe, or whoever, decided, we’ll find each other._

“Just hopefully not _too_ soon,” Jack said under his breath.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Well, if we are soulmates, like God, the Universe, or whoever, decided, we’ll find each other._

Leave it to fate. Katherine could live with that.  _I suppose you're right._

_It happens occasionally. Hey, if you get to call me Cowboy, what should I call you?_

She hadn’t really meant to call him that, it had just come out, but she supposed a nickname was better than her real name.

 _Ace, I guess._ It was a nickname Darcy had given her when they were kids.

_Ace? Like the card?_

_Sure, if you like._ There was no point in correcting him. Maybe someday, if they met, she would, but for now...

Instead of a written answer, a picture of a playing card appeared on the inside of her wrist—the ace of spades. It was a near-perfect rendition.

"An artist, huh?" Katherine muttered. Lucy would have  _loved_ that. Katherine did, too, if she was honest. But she wouldn't tell  _him_ that.

_Is that supposed to impress me?_

A moment later, she saw  _Does it?_

Katherine laughed.  _Not particularly_ , she lied.

When he didn't reply immediately, she worried she'd been unnecessarily harsh, trying to keep her distance. She was about to write back, apologize, then,

_Maybe one of these days, I'll show you what I can really do._

Katherine laid back in her bed, lightly running her fingers over the last words on her arm. Unable to stop herself, she wondered what it’d be like to meet him.

She’d go out to New Mexico one day, maybe for an assignment, maybe on vacation. They’d ride horses, he’d show her his favorite spots.

Since she was dreaming, Katherine imagined Lucy and her mom with them. Lucy and Cowboy would talk art, and her mom would tease him about his intentions. Dad would be distant, as he had been with Jeff, but Mom and Lucy? They’d love Cowboy.

Thinking of her sister, and her mom, made Katherine’s stomach turn and a lump form in her throat.

She was still mourning two of the most important people in her life. There wasn’t room for another person right now, not even a soulmate.

Cowboy could wait.

Katherine needed to stop this. Now. Until she was ready.

 _Maybe_ , she scrawled.  _Goodnight, Cowboy._

Rolling over, Katherine shoved her arm under her pillow, unwilling to see if he wrote anything back. 

He could wait. 

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Her sign-off felt abrupt, made him wonder if he'd said—wrote?—something wrong.

 _Night, Ace_ , he scrawled back, unsure how to fix it. Or if he could fix it. Or if it was even worth fixing. Or—

“The train station, hm? Charlie was right.”

Jack looked up, startled, to see Mayer Jacobs standing over him. Sitting up, he pushed down his sleeves quickly. “Mr. Jacobs. How did you—?”

Mayer sat next to him. “David woke up and noticed you were gone. Charlie mentioned you’d always wanted to travel West. I took a chance. We didn’t think it would be necessary to call the police just yet.”

“And now?” Here it was. He was going back to the orphanage, back to Snyder. He was too much trouble.

Mayer sighed next to him. “And now… We sit here until you’re ready to go home.”

Unexpectedly, unexplainably, Jack’s eye suddenly filled with tears. _Home_. He hadn’t had one of those in a while. Maybe it was worth staying in New York, to experience that.

Ashamed, he bowed his head, swiping under his eyes. A warm hand settled on his back.

“Let’s go home, son.”

They entered the Jacobs residence to a worried Esther, the two eldest Jacobs children, half-asleep, and a tense Crutchie, who jumped up the minute Jack was in view, limping over as fast as he could and throwing his arms around him.

“Hey, kid.” Jack wrapped his arms around Crutchie’s middle.

Burying his face in Jack’s shoulder, Crutchie’s answer was muffled. “Thought ya left me, Jackie.”

“Nah,” Jack said. “Just had ta clear my head. Took a wrong turn.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Mayer said from behind them. “I think that’s enough excitement for tonight. Why don’t we all go to bed?”

Once Jack had reassured Crutchie that he’d still be there in the morning, he went back to his new room, where Dave was already asleep. He settled himself in bed, thinking about Ace.

Maybe a soulmate wouldn’t be the worst thing. Ace didn’t seem so bad, anyways. Maybe one of these days, he could channel a little Confident Jack, and write her again, this time on purpose. Maybe, one day, when they did meet…

Jack shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t think about that, not right now. He had a new foster family to get used to, one that actually might be worth sticking around for. He still had Crutchie to look after—Jack had only seen that hurt, scared look on Crutchie’s face in the orphanage, when the bigger boys picked on him. He didn’t want to be the cause of that look ever again.

Ace would have to wait. Just a little bit longer.

*~*~*~*~*

 

When they woke the next morning, the words from the night before had already faded, and Jack and Katherine had only the faintest memories of the conversation they’d shared.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a medical expert, but I did do a little research on clubfoot. The stretch Jack does for Crutchie's foot is a pretty common stretch for kids with clubfoot. I read that it typically requires two crutches, not one, but, then, Jack thought Santa Fe could cure polio, so...
> 
> The ace of spades is typically a symbol of death, but don't read too much into it. I just associate "ace" with ace of spades. No secret symbolism here. 
> 
> I know I literally just finished "Write What You Know", but this 'verse is so much fun to write for. Not sure I'm ready to say goodbye to it fully...
> 
> Comments, concerns, and critiques welcome.
> 
> Peace, love, and sanity!


End file.
